


Brightest in the Dark

by SooperSara



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Divergence, Crossroads of Destiny - canon divergence, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Luckily Katara is a hugger, Podfic, Stubborn Katara (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko changes sides early, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SooperSara/pseuds/SooperSara
Summary: A less-than-friendly interruption in the crystal catacombs pushes Zuko and Katara together, and they have to work together to find a new path.Canon divergent from Crossroads of Destiny
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 225
Kudos: 1342





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just figuring this podfic thing out, but 🤞 I hope you like it!
> 
> [Podfic Download](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1f5kV9vvkBPNh-eOs4k-AF720Y9Cm9uQH/view?usp=sharing)

_Maybe._

It's the faintest tendril of a chance, but when her fingers whisper feather-light across his scar, Zuko believes she can do it.

Maybe she can fix what no one else could.

Maybe he can finally be rid of the scar.

Maybe things can finally be okay.

But then the wall bursts inward with such force that it shakes him to his bones, and he has to broaden his stance to keep from falling. Without thinking, he angles himself to block the worst of the debris for her, and even with his eyes squeezed shut, he can feel Katara tense and lean closer.

Even before the last of the rumbling dies away, Zuko turns toward it, hands raised, ready to fight. Katara is close— _so close_ —to him, and from the corner of this eye, he sees her poised for battle too. It's strange, standing beside her now after so many battles facing one another as enemies, but it warms something inside him.

"Am I interrupting something, Zuzu?"

He knows that voice, that tone. High and mocking and just so _Azula._ His hands clench into fists.

"My, my, big brother. I put you in here to keep you safe while I got the disturbance at the palace contained. Not to give you a chance to canoodle with the Avatar's pet."

Katara lets out a hiss and Zuko edges toward her. He knows this game too well. The teasing, the mockery is just a distraction. This is what Azula _does_. He can't afford to fall for it. Not again. Not this time.

"I'm a bit disappointed by your manners. Where's my thank you?" Azula looms nearer, eyes cold and shrewd over a blistering smile. "I came for you. I could have left you to rot with this—" her coppery eyes flick toward Katara, "—Water Tribe filth. Really, Zuzu, you should be grateful that I came back to save you from your own bad taste. I didn't have to."

Zuko's jaw tightens. This is bait. It has to be bait.

He sees Katara tense.

"What do you want, Azula?" he demands, fighting to keep a furious tremor out of his voice. He can't fall into another trap. He _won't_ fall into this one.

Azula clucks her tongue. "The direct approach again. You really have spent too much time with Earth Kingdom peasants." She pauses to smooth the locks of hair framing her face. "Fine. If you must know, I want to offer you a trade."

_Azula always lies. Azula always lies. Azula always lies._

This time, he doesn't speak quick enough.

"What kind of a trade?" Katara's eyes spark, and her stance doesn't so much as waver.

Zuko wonders if there will be enough water in the cavern for Katara if it comes to a fight. There will be no stopping her, he knows that much. And though he of all people should know better than to trust a waterbender, the inexplicable fact remains that she has not left his side. For that alone, he feels a measure of—not loyalty, exactly, but _something._ Something strong enough that he doesn't want to see her face Azula unarmed.

Azula curls her lip into a derisive sneer. "Not a trade with _you,_ waterbender." She faces Zuko. "I want your help. In exchange, I can offer you your freedom."

Zuko snarls. "I've made better bargains with pirates."

"You wound me, brother." Azula clasps her hands behind her back, tone and expression equally untroubled as she strolls in an arc around them, vulture-like.

Zuko cranes his neck to follow her movement, but he doesn't quite dare to turn his back on the gaping hole where she first emerged. He can't shake the feeling that there is somebody—possibly many somebodies—just out of sight in the blackness.

"All I want," Azula says, meandering closer as she spirals around them, "Is a bit of help from an ally I can trust. No more than a day's work."

Zuko shakes his head. There is a catch. There's _always_ a catch with Azula. "You're lying," he rasps.

Azula pretends not to hear. "And in exchange, I can offer you something you've been searching for." She leans in, near enough for Zuko to feel her breath on his scarred ear. "A way home."

A chill runs up his spine, but Zuko hardly notices. He is numb.

 _Home._ The Fire Nation. The palace. The familiarity of flame-red and obsidian-black on every surface. _Father._

His heart roars in his chest at the thought, and he is vaguely aware of his hands dropping to his sides. _Home._ It isn't a mystical undoing of the past contained in a vial of blessed water. This is better. Not a way to erase the past. This is a future. One that doesn't have to mean forgetting— _all_ of this. One where the past three years mean something. One he has earned.

His mouth won't cooperate when he tries to speak, but he is ready to accept, to agree to all of Azula's conditions. Anything if it means that he can go home, that he will deserve a place at Father's side again.

"Why?" Katara's voice cuts through his thoughts, clear as a bell stroke. "Why would he ever go back?"

 _A million reasons. The gardens. The morning breeze in summer. The cherry blossoms in springtime. The music. The spices. The turtleducks._ But before he can form the words, Katara is speaking again.

"He told me what happened. Your people took his mother from him. They banished him. They've hunted him all across the Earth Kingdom!" Her voice rings through the whole of the cavern, and she stares, fearless, into Azula's eyes. "What kind of a home is that to go back to?"

Zuko wants to tell her to stop. That she doesn't know what she's talking about, that he _doesn't want to hear it._ That his mind is already made up. But her rage, once awakened, will not be silenced.

"What kind of father sends his own son away on an impossible quest? What kind of _sister_ attacks her own brother and throws him in the catacombs to rot?"

He tries to speak. He tries to stop her, but no words come. Some part of him, some horrible, treasonous part keeps his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth and steals the breath from his lungs. It whispers that he should listen. That he should agree with her. That a part of him has _always_ agreed with her.

His head is spinning, and it hurts to breathe.

"If this is how the Fire Nation treats its own children, then it doesn't deserve to have them back."

The last of Zuko's breath leaves in a rush. He knows that he should disagree, that he should argue and _fight_ , but the traitorous part of his mind tightens its grip and suddenly he can't tell which side of him is yelling louder. Or even remember which side is which.

Azula faces no such conflict, and her eyes flash, cold and burning all at once. While Katara's rage is bright and passionate, Azula's is frigid.

"You have no right to speak, peasant."

Katara begins another retort, but before her lips can so much as part, Azula drops into a familiar stance, drawing broad, crackling circles in the air with her fingertips.

There is no time to think.

When the lighting surges from Azula's fingertips, Zuko is already moving. He plants himself in front of Katara and catches the bolt in his left hand. _Up the arm to the shoulder, down to the stomach, across to the shoulder, out the other arm._ Electricity jolts through his body, the force of it pushing him backward, closer to Katara, _closer, too close,_ before he releases it back in Azula's direction. The bolt strikes at her feet and throws her backward.

He is shaken. Can't move, can hardly even _think_ when Katara races to his side, summoning what little water she can.

He sees the Dai Li flooding into the chamber even as Katara shapes her water into whips and readies herself for battle. He should help, he thinks dimly. There is only so much Katara can do to protect them.

But without the power of the lightning coursing through his veins, he can't find the strength. He thinks he might collapse. Nothing is amiss so far as he can tell, he is not hurt, but he is adrift, and standing seems entirely too difficult.

He is numb when Azula stumbles back to her feet, when the Dai Li close in, when Katara's meager supply of water fails to keep them at bay.

He is still numb when an agent twists his arms behind his back and knocks him to the ground.

He is still numb when Azula stares into his eyes and gives the order to lock them both away.

* * *

"I'm sorry about this."

Katara peers back over her shoulder. He is hunched on the opposite side of the bars, back-to-back with her. She's surprised to hear him speak—even more surprised by the softness of his voice.

"About what?" She can make out the reddened, ruined edge of his scarred ear but little else. "Did you have something to do with this?"

"What?" He twists around too, peering at her from the corner of his perpetually narrowed left eye.

"Azula's _your_ sister."

"That doesn't mean I'm working with her." Zuko exhales and turns his back again, but not before she catches a glimpse of the ragged edge of his sleeve and the branching red marks on the back of his hand.

Katara frowns at the back of his head. "So why are you apologizing?" She settles back into place, a little unnerved by the gentle warmth radiating off of his back. Being so near him shouldn't feel— _comforting._ She pulls her knees up to her chest and stares at the damp stone wall in front of her. She is _not_ going to think about this. She can't.

She hears him inhale as if to respond, but no words come. And after a weighty moment of silence, he sighs, and a fresh wave of heat rolls through the bars. It's a pleasant contrast to the chilly dampness of the cell and Katara involuntarily presses closer.

Silence hangs between them for another few minutes.

"She's going to kill me." Zuko's voice is still quiet, and the angry edge she's come to expect from him is absent. He sounds certain. Resigned, almost.

She sees it over again, the bolt of lightning meant for her, caught in midair and turned away. She sees Zuko, ropes of electricity twining around his arms until he turns the blast back on his own sister. She still isn't sure how he survived such a direct strike, and she doesn't dare ask. It isn't that she _cares,_ exactly. This is _Zuko._ The fact that she didn't want to watch him die doesn't mean she cares about _Zuko_.

She swallows back her emotions. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard in a while."

This time, he turns fully around, and she mourns the loss of the steady warmth against her back.

"You've met Azula. There's no way she's going to let me live after— _that."_

Katara turns to face him, expecting sparks of anger in his eyes, but by the time her gaze finds them, they are turned downward. Away from her. He slumps to the side, resting his shoulder against the bars.

"That's not the stupid part." She laces her fingers through the steel barrier. "She's completely nuts, I know that from experience."

"So what, then? She's going to have me executed. What's so stupid about that?" He frowns and scratches at a muddy streak on his knee.

 _Accepting it,_ she wants to say, but the words catch in her throat. She likes this version of Zuko better than the one who chased after them for months, but she will not get her hopes up. Out of the faint glow of the crystal catacombs, reality looks too harsh.

"If we know anything," she says in a half-voice, "It's that Zuko never gives up." She feels him look her way, but she refuses to meet his eyes. "That's what my brother said about you at the North Pole. When you decided to fight a waterbender at night. On a glacier."

The words feel a bit harsher than she intends and she sees it in the way Zuko pulls abruptly away from the bars.

"Do you have a point?" he asks, the words sharp.

Katara swallows again. They're not friends, she reminds herself. They _will not_ be friends, but right now, she needs an ally. He does too. "My point is that giving up right now doesn't seem like a very Zuko thing to do."

He meets her eyes for an instant and her stomach erupts with fluttering. She pulls her eyes away.

"I'm not giving up," he says, his voice the barest rasp. "I'm just—accepting my circumstances. My uncle would be proud of that."

"How is that any different than giving up?"

He runs a hand through his hair. It looks kind of nice this way, Katara realizes. It looks soft. It looks smooth. For a brief, idiotic moment, she wonders if it would be too weird to reach through the bars just to touch his hair.

"What else am I supposed to do?"

Flames erupt in her stomach and she feels her expression harden. "Escape."

He rolls his eyes and lets his head thump against the bars. "Wow. What a great idea. Why didn't I think of that?"

The sarcasm is unexpected, and it prickles her. Katara scowls. "My friends and I freed an entire Fire Nation prison rig. Don't act like it's impossible."

With a sigh, Zuko pushes himself upright again. "Believe me, I heard. But I can't tunnel through a mile of rock, and even if I was a good enough firebender to melt steel, we'd be roasted before I finished." He frowns and fidgets with the scorched edge of his sleeve. His voice drops even lower. "I was never going to make it very long anyway."

She watches him in profile, his head hanging, his shoulders slumped. She's never seen him so tired, so subdued before. So hopeless. She decides she doesn't like it. Zuko isn't quiet, he isn't subdued. He doesn't surrender. Not ever.

Part of her—the part that shares a sliver of Sokka's pessimism, his paranoia—hesitates. Less than a day ago, Zuko was her enemy. Part of her isn't convinced that that has changed, but when she catches sight of the scorch marks trailing up his sleeves and the branching red lines on the backs of his hands, she presses the uncertainty back down. She couldn't ask for better proof of his intentions. Loyal to the Fire Nation or not, Zuko risked his life to keep her safe. She needs an ally, and Zuko is her best—her _only_ option.

"Maybe you can't blast through steel," she says in an undertone, "but I can cut through it."

She gathers the moisture from the corners of the little cell, and the murky water comes to encase her hand. She feels less certain than she sounds—she's never attempted anything like this alone. But Zuko is watching, and Aang isn't here to help her, and Katara refuses to surrender. She will _make_ it possible.

* * *

He's not sure he's ever seen bending like this before. The water is a tool in Katara's hands, narrow tendrils lashing at the bars in quick succession. She is precise, ruthless in her efficiency. He sees her forehead crease in concentration and effort, but she never stops. She never slows.

He wishes he could help, but in a space this small, he knows better. He might have a chance to withstand the heat it would take to sever the bars, but Katara is a waterbender. By the time he feels the ill effects of the flames, she will have wilted entirely away.

So he tunes his eyes and ears to the corridors instead. The Dai Li won't leave them unsupervised forever.

The first time he detects footsteps between Katara's measured slices, his warning earns him a frigid glare. Zuko pulls back from the bars. He knows her anger well enough to keep his distance. But the pause is long enough for her to hear the approaching steps and her eyes widen.

She grabs him by the front of the tunic and hauls him back down against the bars.

Zuko thinks he can hear the roar of her pulse as she nestles against his back. He stiffens. It feels strange to be so close, but the guards are still coming. He exhales and does his best to relax.

The guards hardly pause at their cells—a glance to confirm that they haven't escaped, and they are alone again. Zuko is too absorbed in the sensation of the girl resting against his back to notice when silence falls over them again.

But Katara isn't so easily distracted. She lets out an anxious breath and turns her head to whisper a _thank you_ next to his ear. It sends a small shiver up his back, and for a moment, Zuko can feel the lightning coursing through his palms again.

He should regret it. He should loathe himself for turning the lightning off its path to save this enemy girl. But as she scrambles to her feet and goes back to work, whittling away at the bars, he can't find any emotion quite that strong inside himself.

Katara is still alive, and as much as the thought of his sacrifice cuts at him, Zuko can't help but think that the world might be better for it.

When the guards come and go a few more times and Katara's efforts begin to show, a dark, desperate feeling passes over him. She is close now. A few more strikes and there will be nothing left between her and freedom. And his cell is still untouched. She could cut her way out and never look back.

For a moment, she seems to consider it, hovering in indecision, but then she inhales and turns his way.

"Stand back," she says in a voice scarcely over a whisper. "It takes a lot of force to cut through steel. I don't want to hurt you."

His heart skips in his chest but he scrambles back as she turns her water on the bars that separate them.

He doesn't quite believe it. Doesn't quite dare to hope, but one sharpened lash of water strikes, then another and another. And though Zuko knows better than to trust anyone, much less a waterbender, much less _her_ , he starts to believe that she means it. That she really will help him escape.

* * *

Long before the bars fall, Katara's arms begin to ache, her eyelids to droop. But there's no time for rest. Not here. Not when she's still in the Dai Li's grasp, not while her fate rests in Azula's hands.

She thinks about running when her passage to the corridor is nearly clear. A few more swipes and she can cut the bars through and be gone long before Zuko can even try to slow her down. She can go back to the life she knows and leave this day in the past. She can forget, in time.

But even before she glances his way, sees the lightning marks trailing up his wrists and remembers the flash of blue light encompassing his entire body, she knows that she will never forget. The life she knows is gone.

So she turns her efforts to bringing down the barrier between them, not daring to pause for fear that she might second-guess herself, that regret might settle in if she takes the time to think. She can't afford to linger on her doubts.

Zuko keeps watch, warning her each time the guards approach, and each time, it grows harder and harder. She doesn't want to stop. She doesn't want to wait. She wants to escape, to get as far from here as possible, but she knows that Zuko is right. She can't let them see her bending.

It's even harder to start again. Her arms ache, and it grows more difficult to keep her water from splattering across the cell. She hasn't seen the sunlight in far too long. For all she knows, they've been down here for days already. But she keeps at it, cutting at the steel bit by tiny bit.

Zuko tries to tell her to rest—if she just stops until the guards pass again, they can make their escape when the next opening comes. They can make the most of their time and they will both be rested.

Katara shakes her head. _No._ She will not wait any longer. She will not stay locked up, and she will not slow down. The last thing she needs is time to second-guess her choice to help him.

She cuts the bars until only a thread of steel still holds them in place, and Zuko kicks his way into her cell. He spares her a glance—worried, she'd think, if she didn't know better—then rams his way through the bars into the corridor. Half-dazed with exhaustion, she follows.

Zuko takes up one of the fallen bars as a weapon—she thinks she hears him say something about fire being too dangerous for confined spaces like this, but she's only half listening. Zuko seems to recognize the droop in her posture, the heaviness in her limbs. He points her toward the surface, and when she reacts too slowly, he grabs her by the hand.

* * *

"Have you ever ridden an ostrich horse before?" Zuko asks in a whisper.

Katara stares a moment too long and blinks. "Is it like riding a sky bison?"

Zuko starts to ask her what riding a sky bison is like, then stops himself. There isn't time for this. Katara is exhausted—even if he gets sense out of her, it will burn precious moments of their escape.

"Never mind." He tugs once more to be certain that the supplies are secure. "She looks fast, that's all that matters."

He swings himself up into the saddle and pauses a moment, staring over the moonlit valley. He could leave. Katara wouldn't be able to stop him. She's worn out from the hours she spent slicing them free—if he wants, Zuko can snap the reins and let his new mount run as far and as fast as she can. He can be alone. He's good at that. Or at least he's better at being alone than being with people his own age.

But he watches Katara yawn and scrub at her eyes with the back of her hand. The only reason she's still here is because she decided to free Zuko too. She could have left him behind. She could have been free, making this escape on her own _hours_ ago. But she didn't. He can't repay that sacrifice with treachery.

"Here." He reaches down to secure her bundles alongside his. "You'll ride behind me. Even with the two of us, we should make it a few miles before they realize we're gone." He only hopes that those few miles will be enough.

Katara accepts his outstretched hand and swings up behind him. For a second, her hands hover by his sides, uncertain, as he looks back over his shoulder.

"Do I—"

Zuko swallows and gives a small nod. "Hold on. You'll get hurt if you fall off."

There is the briefest hesitation—for an instant, Zuko thinks that she's finally alert enough to realize who she's with, how little she trusts him, but then her arms wrap snug around his waist. Zuko stiffens. She almost seems comfortable with this arrangement. But then she yawns in his ear and he reminds himself that she is exhausted, that their escaping together is a matter of necessity, nothing more.

Nothing else matters. Not the fact that no one has been this close to Zuko in—he can't remember how long, not the fact that he doesn't feel that compulsion to push away like he always does with Uncle, like he did with Song and Jet and Jin.

He inhales. None of it matters. Only escape matters.

He cracks the reins and the ostrich horse breaks into a trot.

He isn't sure where he's going, but Zuko rides east from the city. They travel by road for a distance, a road worn well enough to leave no trace of their passing, then he cuts across a field, then another and another, faster and faster. This ostrich horse is a finer beast by far than the one he rode across the desert and it carries them both with ease. Zuko tries to be reassured by that. By now, their escape will have been discovered, but maybe, _maybe_ they can move fast enough to keep out of Azula's reach.

He feels Katara sway once or twice before her head comes to rest on his shoulder. He starts, and a moment passes before he finds the courage to peer back at her.

She is asleep. The sensation of her even breaths against his neck sends chills up his spine, and he can almost feel the lightning jolting through his arms again. His grip on the reins tightens. He should regret it. The reddish lines the electricity traced into his skin still tingle, an inescapable reminder of how close he came to losing everything for a girl who only sees him as an enemy. Who he should still consider an enemy. But this—her soft warmth, the comfortable weight resting against his shoulder, the arms twined loosely around his waist—it feels pleasant. Even _right_ , somehow.

He swallows, willing away the dryness in his mouth. Uncle would tease him for this. Uncle would wink and waggle his bushy eyebrows and make pointed comments, but Zuko pushes that all out of his mind. He doesn't feel _that_ way about Katara, and she certainly feels nothing for him. As it should be. They are allies of convenience and necessity, nothing more.

But when Katara begins to slip, her arms loosening further and her head sliding off his shoulder, a jolt of panic strikes his heart, and Zuko swings an arm back to keep her from falling. Pulse racing, he slows the ostrich horse as he settles her sleeping form into a safer position. She doesn't wake, but when he pulls her arms more tightly around his middle and wraps his own over them to keep her from losing her grasp, she gives a small sigh. She nestles closer, her face tucked into the crook of his neck.

His breath leaves him in a rush and a fresh wave of tingling chills washes over him. He can't think about this. He can't afford to dwell on the bizarre feeling that _this_ is right. That Katara sleeping against his shoulder, the top of her head brushing the rim of his twisted, deformed ear, means anything. It _doesn't_. Katara doesn't know where she's sleeping or who she's snuggling against.

But that knowledge doesn't make it any easier when she nuzzles against his scar. Zuko feels as though his insides are dissolving. It doesn't hurt. He almost wishes it did. Maybe then he wouldn't be so desperate to surrender to it.

Maybe then he wouldn't be weak enough to close his eyes and lean into her contact.

Somehow, he manages to ride on until the sky fades from black to a faint lavender-gray before he too is swaying with exhaustion. Bleary-eyed, he steers the ostrich horse south, toward a distant range of rolling, forested hills. Katara still sleeps against his back, and when he finds a sheltered overhang against the base of a cliff, he pulls the ostrich horse to a stop.

Katara feels small when he gathers her up, but Zuko staggers under her weight, so tired that his legs don't want to hold him. He lays her down a little less gently than he intends and blinks at her for a second before retrieving a blanket from the saddle and draping it over her.

A part of him, a small, foolish part, wants to give in and lie down beside her. She looks comfortable and soft, and he misses the warm weight of her head on his shoulder. But even muddled in a sleepless fog, he has the sense to stumble to the next patch of dried grass.

Exhausted, he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the feeling when the tiniest detail balloons into a multi-chapter fic? Yeah, that's been my life for the past few months while I worked on this story. I wound up staring at a gif of the crystal catacombs scene from Crossroads of Destiny for a little too long—you know the moment when Aang and Iroh burst in and Zuko and Katara lean closer together for a second? _That_ moment. I watched that gif over and over until it occurred to me that it kind of looked like Zuko and Katara were ready to throw down for each other. And then I laughed and thought, _wow, can you imagine what would have happened if it had been Azula or the Dai Li instead of Aang and Iroh?_
> 
> And... of course I had to write it. 
> 
> I didn't expect to spend this much time on this thing, but I really love it way it turned out. And as always, comments are welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Katara are free and on the run, and they learn to trust and rely on one another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that I love the fact that I can put my cover art on my podfic track so y'all can see it without me having to learn how to embed images? 'Cuz I love that fact.
> 
> [Podfic Download](https://drive.google.com/file/d/10_PBW8exZk9UzoAIuNL-kzq1trn8F-00/view?usp=sharing)

When Katara wakes to birdsong and the brightness of midday sun, she expects to find her brother, Aang, and Toph waiting for her. For several long moments, she forgets Ba Sing Se and the catacombs and the prince—the _boy_ —who saved her. She is back on the long road across the Earth Kingdom and everything makes sense.

But when she turns her head, she finds an ostrich horse staring at her. An ostrich horse with deep green ornaments on its bridle and a Dai Li insignia on its saddle. Her eyes snap open and she sits up, a blanket falling away from her shoulders. Heart racing, she finds Zuko a few paces away, asleep in the shadows without a blanket.

She lets out a slow, shaking breath. So it was real. All of it. Azula, the catacombs, the lightning, the dungeon. And the escape. She isn't certain how much relief she should feel. She— _they_ are free, but Zuko is with her, and a niggling corner of her mind reminds her that she would be dead were it not for his help.

She stumbles to her feet, sore in places from the uneven ground. She doesn't know where she is or remember how she got here, which can only mean that she slept through their journey. Which means that Zuko brought her all the way here—wherever _here_ is. And that he got her settled to sleep on the ground—she catches the blanket before it lands in the dirt and frowns at it. Zuko gave her a blanket. He didn't bother with one for himself, but he gave _her_ a blanket.

An uncomfortable feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. All her instincts tell her to run, to climb on the ostrich horse and ride as far and fast as she can away from here. That she can only trust Zuko so far, and that _this_ is the limit. But there is a blanket in her hands, and she can still see the lightning marks on his wrists. She can't convince herself that either is meaningless.

For a long, uneasy minute, she watches him sleep. She wishes she could read his thoughts, could know his motives. She wishes she could know whether this was a mistake. But she finds no answers in his placid, sleeping face. She draws in a slow breath and throws the blanket over Zuko. She resolves not to think about it until he wakes up. They will need supplies to survive out here, and _that_ , at least, is a problem she knows how to fix.

She rifles through the supplies tied to the saddle—another blanket, a small tent, a few Dai Li shirts—too big to fit either of them—twin swords, a knife, two canteens, and a package of grayish lumps that _might_ be some sort of biscuits. Or rocks. It's hard to tell which. Katara makes a face at them. If they are supposed to be food, she'd rather do her own foraging.

It isn't long before she returns to their meager camp with both canteens filled and a few apple-like fruits tucked in her pockets. The ostrich horse gives a squawk of greeting, and Zuko stirs.

Katara freezes in place and clutches the canteens as she watches him sit and rub his eyes. For a moment, he appears baffled by the blanket twisted around his arm and simply stares at it. The bewilderment deepens when he meets her eyes.

"Katara?" His voice is soft and hoarse. "You're here?"

She draws a deep breath and nods. "You brought me here."

"No, I meant—" Zuko stops and shakes his head.

Katara doesn't have to hear the rest of the sentence. _You're_ _ **still**_ _here. You could have left, but you're_ _ **here.**_ She shifts her weight, steeling herself, and offers a strained smile.

"Where is here, anyway?"

Zuko stares for another second, then runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know. Southeast of Ba Sing Se, I think."

Katara nods. Southeast is good. Chameleon Bay is southeast of Ba Sing Se.

"So—" She falters and fidgets with the canteens. "So—what happens now?"

Zuko freezes and his brow creases. He looks down.

She can't keep the edge out of her voice. "You don't have a plan?"

He meets her eyes, scowling. "Of course I don't! Two— _three_ days ago, I thought I was going to stay in Ba Sing Se with my uncle and work in his teashop forever. Yesterday, I thought I'd be dead before sunrise. Excuse me for not having my entire life figured out."

She is startled, and for a second, she freezes. There are still dark rings around Zuko's eyes, and he looks exhausted, frayed at the edges. Slowly, she sits across from him.

"I'm not asking you to have everything figured out." She keeps her voice soft. Now is not the time to push him, and she doesn't have the energy to fight either. "I just need to know—" she inhales, gathering her courage. "Do you want to go back? To the Fire Nation, I mean?"

Zuko deflates and his single eyebrow furrows. "I—" He shakes his head and looks away, picking at the edge of the blanket, now draped halfway across his lap. "I don't think that matters anymore."

"Why not?"

Not looking her way, he raises a hand, the web-like markings apparent even from a distance. "Because I made my choice. I didn't realize it, but—"

He swallows, and Katara wonders if the new huskiness in his voice is more emotion or exhaustion.

"But," he resumes, "I made my choice and I can't go back now." He blinks a few times, eyes still stubbornly turned away.

Katara wonders if he regrets it. If he would let the lightning hit her and join his sister if he had another chance. She doesn't ask. She isn't sure she wants to know the answer.

Her eyes are drawn to the lightning marks again. "Do you want me to take a look at that?"

His gaze goes to the vial hanging like a pendant from her neck, and her face heats.

"Not—not _that."_ She fumbles to tuck the vial away where it belongs. "Not right now. I'm sorry. It's just—I don't think I got enough sleep to try anything like _that."_

His reaction isn't quite what she expects. He doesn't seem upset. Or angry. But a bit of the tension in his face drains away, and if she didn't know better, she would think that he was actually _relieved_ beneath his carefully cultivated frown.

She doesn't dare to ask about that either.

"I meant—" She traces lines up her own arms with her fingertips. "The lightning marks."

Zuko's brow furrows again, puzzled this time. "Oh." He looks down at his hands and clears his throat. "They don't really hurt."

Katara scoots forward. "What does 'really' mean?" She grabs his hand to study the pattern etched into his skin.

He inhales sharply, and Katara frowns up at him.

"If they _hurt_ , you have to say so."

His eyes are wider than she's ever seen them, and he shakes his head. "It's not—they _don't_ hurt. They just—sting a bit."

"Well, then, tough guy." Katara says, still grasping his hand. "Either I can take two minutes to heal them completely or you'll just have to live with them _stinging a bit_ until they heal on their own."

* * *

Zuko isn't lying when he tells Katara that the lightning marks don't hurt. They don't, not really. But it's easier to let her believe that he's putting on a brave face than it would be to admit that he isn't accustomed to contact. That even a slight brush against his arm feels strange and foreign and—with anyone else, even _wrong_. That her touch sends a small shock along the lightning's path but it's somehow anything but painful.

He grumbles and grumps, but he lets her try her hand at healing the lightning marks. He expects nothing. Burns don't just disappear, neither do scars. In the harsh light of midday, he can finally admit that. He doesn't expect any change, but he lets her try because it's easier than explaining how hopeless this is. It's easier than disappointing her.

She coats her hands in water and passes them over his hands, his wrists, his arms, his chest. He expects the stinging, the uncomfortable tingle to linger, but the marks wipe away as easily as chalk dust, taking the discomfort with them.

Katara smiles at her handiwork, and Zuko is left stunned, staring at the pale, unblemished skin. It's as though he never stepped in front of the lightning at all. Or it would be, except Katara is alive and they are miles from Ba Sing Se, fugitives from the Fire Nation.

If she can do that, he realizes with an uneasy jolt, maybe she's telling the truth about her little blue vial. Maybe she could really do it. Maybe she could wipe his scar away.

His stomach turns and he tries not to think about it.

By afternoon, after a meal of fruit and water—Katara refuses to touch the stolen Dai Li provisions—they are finally rested enough to move. Zuko doesn't feel much like travelling. He knows that they can't stay long in their little hollow at the base of the cliff, not with Azula hunting them, but he has no destination this time. He is adrift. There is nowhere left for him to go. He wishes Uncle were here with his tea and his proverbs and his advice, but Uncle is back in Ba Sing Se, probably enjoying the newfound quiet in their little apartment, playing Pai Sho and drinking exotic teas. For all Zuko knows, Uncle might not even miss him. Uncle might be glad of his absence.

Katara, though, seems to have a destination in mind. She won't tell Zuko where she is leading them, and he doesn't ask. He knows better than to expect an answer. They are enemies, he reminds himself again and again. She has no reason to trust him with her plans.

But although she hasn't invited Zuko to join her, she neither pushes him away nor tries to disappear. And with the lightning marks healed, with nothing left to leave her in his debt, he can't understand why.

* * *

Before, Katara was never in charge of the plans. That was always Sokka's job. Sokka plotted their course on a map, set schedules and rules and deadlines. Before, Katara was only ever in charge of the necessities, the food, the fire, the cleaning, the mending.

But now, she finds their direction, their schedule, their destination all in her hands. She prods Zuko for input once or twice, but he has nothing to offer, and every reminder casts a shadow over his face. So she stops asking and takes charge instead.

For the first day, they speak only when necessary. Katara cuts the Dai Li insignia off of all their supplies and turns their course toward the southeast. Southeast until they can find a map, she tells Zuko, until she can begin to plot their travel by landmarks rather than a vague inkling. She doesn't tell him about Chameleon Bay or the Water Tribe fleet stationed there. Zuko doesn't ask. And although she knows where she is going, she tries not to think beyond the next day, the next hour. She _can't_ think about what it will mean if Zuko stays with her all the way to Chameleon Bay, to Sokka and Dad, and whatever else is left of her normal life.

But as a travelling companion, Zuko surprises her. Though he has no opinions, no suggestions to offer on the direction of their travel, he is anything but passive. With a surprisingly skillful hand, he cuts a too-large Dai Li tunic into something that hangs on her like a dress when the sash is tied and from a second, he cuts a vest for himself to cover the scorch marks on his tunic. He tends to the ostrich horse, which he names Ginseng—in his uncle's honor, he tells Katara—and keeps watch for any signs of pursuit.

That alone is more than she expects from him. He's a _prince_ , after all. At best, she expects a Toph-like work ethic. So when she comes back from the river on their first evening, two fish in hand, she is surprised to find the tent set, Ginseng fed and tethered, and a campfire already burning. Her jaw drops, and Zuko scrambles to his feet. He mumbles the start of an explanation or an apology, but Katara cuts him off with a word of thanks and a smile. Zuko doesn't smile back, but the tension in his expression, in his limbs, eases a bit. He nods once and turns to tend the fire again.

It isn't easy, exactly. No part of travelling by ostrich horse is _easy._ As much as Katara is grateful for the creature's speed, there is nothing comfortable about its gait, and although their provisions are meager, there is no space to add anything more. For that alone, she misses Appa. _He_ could carry three times as many people and enough supplies to last a month. But for the two of them, the food Katara can pull straight from the river is enough. For the two of them, the workload is manageable. They fall into a pattern, find a balance, and soon enough, it begins to feel natural.

Halfway through the second day, Katara catches Zuko talking to the ostrich horse, murmuring that she is a good girl while patting her beak. When Katara clears her throat to remind him of her presence, Zuko turns several shades of red in quick succession. It's enough to dissolve the walls keeping their conversation in check, and tentatively, they push into unfamiliar territory.

Zuko tells her about the komodo rhinos on his ship and how his uncle named them all after his favorite teas, then renamed the smallest 'Noodles' after it stole a mouthful of the old man's lunch. Katara tells him how the rivalry between Sokka and Momo has escalated from stealing each other's food to Momo stuffing rocks into Sokka's mouth. She discovers that Zuko is funny in an odd, sarcastic way, and she even catches him smiling once or twice. He has a nice smile. A _very_ nice smile. She tries not to think about the way it makes her stomach flutter.

She tries even harder to keep from thinking about how comfortable she feels tucked against his back on the ostrich horse. They are travelling companions, nothing more.

Day by day, their companionship deepens until it begins to feel more like a partnership. Travelling with Zuko, _being_ with Zuko is easier than she could have ever expected. Or it would be, had she ever considered the possibility of travelling with him. They help one another, they protect one another.

But day by day, it grows harder to keep from telling Zuko her plans, to reconcile the present with the future she knows is coming. Every day, Chameleon Bay grows nearer, and the little vial of Spirit Oasis water weighs heavier around her neck.

She knows the choice she'll have to make. She knows that she can't stay with Zuko forever. Her family, her friends, the war all need her. She doesn't want to leave Zuko behind. But she _will not_ lose what she's been fighting for her entire life.

She plays with the vial and wracks her mind for another option.

* * *

Every day, he expects to wake to an empty camp, the ostrich horse and all their supplies missing along with Katara. But every morning, she is there, curled up and sleeping barely an arm's length away.

Every morning, he breathes a sigh of relief.

He doesn't expect it to last. Sooner or later, she will leave him behind. But some deep part of him, the part that still clings to hope against all reason, feels like this is right. That somehow, he has found where he belongs.

He shakes the notion out of his head. Katara's kindness is only temporary. Even though they talk, even though they grow more comfortable with one another by the day, he can't, _won't_ delude himself about that. She'll drive him away eventually, and the best he can hope is that she waits long enough for him to find his own path first.

It isn't her fault that the idea of striking off on his own makes him more uneasy by the day. She shouldn't have to carry that burden. So he keeps quiet about it and does his share of the work—more, when he can. If he's lucky, he might buy himself another day of her company.

The full moon rises, and they sit side-by-side, watching the dying embers of their campfire.

From the corner of his eye, Zuko watches her fidget with the little blue vial hanging from her neck. She hasn't mentioned the spirit water or her offer to heal his scar in days, and he is oddly grateful for that. But the fidgeting has grown more frequent and every glimpse of it turns his stomach to uneasy knots.

"The moon is full."

He gives a small grunt of acknowledgement and pokes at the fire.

Katara pulls the string over her head and turns the vial over in her hands. "I know I should have said something sooner. I haven't forgotten." Her eyes turn up toward his, and there is a familiar tug in the center of his chest.

 _Agni,_ he needs to make that stop.

"I just—I've been thinking about it, and if I'm going to try this, I need every possible advantage. I've never used water from the Spirit Oasis before. And I've never tried to heal a scar. I don't even know if it's possible, but if it is, I need my bending to be at its strongest."

His mouth goes dry and he stares at the faintly glowing coals.

"Zuko?" Her voice is small, uncertain.

He swallows and nods. "I'm listening."

How is he supposed to do this? How is he supposed to tell her that the idea of wiping away the face he's known for three years fills him with dread? It _shouldn't_. He should be grateful for the chance to change things—but instead, his stomach lurches.

Her hand brushes past his shoulder and she cups his cheek, her thumb resting against the bottom of his scar. "And?"

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. _Stupid._ It shouldn't be this hard. He's been talking to her, telling her the truth about a thousand different things for _days_ now. He meets her eyes for a moment before he has to look away.

"And—I don't know."

Her thumb brushes softly, so softly against the ridged skin, and it sends small shivers through him. The way she touches his scar, the way she _looks_ at it, tenderly, like it's somehow anything but revolting, still unnerves him.

"Okay." She turns his head her way. "Zuko, if there's something wrong, you can tell me."

He doesn't disbelieve her. He should. He _knows_ he should. But he sees nothing but concern in her eyes.

"I—" He pauses to draw in a shaking breath. "I don't think I can do it."

Her hand remains in place, spreading a gentle warmth over his scar. "Do what?"

"Let you heal it." His eyes squeeze shut, and his jaw tightens. _Stupid, stupid and cowardly_. He should be grateful for the opportunity to leave this behind. He should be _begging_ her to erase the traces of the past from his face, but he can't. He can't make himself feel anything but dread at the sight of the blue vial, at the thought of the blessed water inside it.

Her hand pulls away. "What?"

He exhales. This is the end. He can feel it. His ingratitude will be the tipping point, and she will leave him behind. But the longer he dwells on it, the more certain he becomes.

"I can't let you heal my scar."

There is a long moment of quiet and he dares to glance at her. Katara turns the vial over in her hands again.

"Why not?"

"Because." His hands clamp down on the splintery end of the log. "I can't forget what happened." He feels her gaze on him, steady as ever. "I can't pretend that I'm okay with it. I'm _not_. I don't know if I ever will be."

Katara lets the vial fall into her lap and her fingertips explore the upper edge of the scar this time. He should pull away, but he doesn't. It feels like a caress, and he wishes he could lean into it, could surrender to the delicate brush of her fingertips.

"If I don't have the scar," he continues, trying with all his might to keep his voice from shaking, "People will expect me to be— _normal._ And I'm not. I don't think I even remember how."

Her hand comes to rest against the side of his face, curling lightly around his bad eye. "Can I ask you something, Zuko?"

He shivers at the softness of her touch. He doesn't want to answer any questions, doesn't want the risk of her trying to change his mind, but the tenderness renders him unable to refuse.

He manages a nod.

Her fingers resume their exploration back toward his shriveled ear. "This is a burn scar, isn't it?"

Zuko nods again.

"Then how—" She pauses, brows drawn. "How is it so— _clean?_ I've seen hundreds of burns and none of them look like this. The ones that are bad enough to scar are never— _contained_ like this."

Zuko swallows. He's asked himself the same thing hundreds of times over, and though he knows the answer, it tears at his insides to admit it.

"Because—the man who gave it to me knew exactly what he was doing."

Katara looks stricken and Zuko turns his eyes away.

"I _know_ it's stupid to keep it. I know I should want—"

He doesn't have a chance to finish before Katara stretches upward. Her lips collide a little clumsily with the lower edge of his scar. The deadened nerves come to life with the kiss.

He feels the jolt of lightning again, but this time it's soft and gentle and _kind_.

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Katara pulls back as quickly as she leaned in and looks away, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking—" She stands up, starts to retreat toward the tent.

Zuko can't speak, can't form a coherent thought, much less convince his mouth to cooperate. But he doesn't want her to apologize. He doesn't want her to leave.

"Wait," he croaks, catching her hand before she can round the remains of the campfire.

Katara looks back. He isn't certain whether it's a trick of the failing light, but he thinks her cheeks have darkened. His own are ablaze, he can feel it. A string of half-formed questions races through his mind— _Was that a mistake? Did you mean it? Was it just pity, or—something else?_ None of them survive the journey to his lips, and he stares at her, mouth slightly agape, trying desperately to find something, _anything_ to say to her.

 _Anything_ to keep her from disappearing.

Katara's gaze turns from his eyes to his hand, clutching hers with all the strength he can muster. _Too tight,_ he realizes. _You're holding her hand too tight._ He does his best to loosen his grip and his hand drops back to his side.

"Sorry." His tongue is lead in his mouth, and he is surprised that the words come out at all. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't mean to—" He can't finish the sentence.

But Katara doesn't leave. She takes a step toward him, her beautiful eyes boring straight into his core. "What didn't I mean?"

Zuko can't bring himself to say it, but his hand goes to the place where she kissed him. The sensation of her lips against his scar still lingers, and part of him hopes that he can cling to it forever.

Katara bites her lip and takes another step closer. "It wasn't a mistake, Zuko."

Her words knock the breath out of his chest, and he stares up at her. It shouldn't be possible. _No one_ should be able to see his face with anything but revulsion. _No one_ should be able to see him as anything more than a pathetic failure.

But somehow, Katara tips his face upward and slowly, deliberately, kisses the place where his left eyebrow used to be.

This time, Zuko doesn't quite forget how to breathe. This time, it doesn't feel quite like lightning. This time, it feels warm and sure. This time, Zuko doesn't have to check whether he's dreaming— _this_ is real. It is sweet and soft and _right._ And this time, when Katara pulls back, Zuko doesn't entirely lose the ability to speak.

"I—" He clears his throat. "Thank you."

It isn't the right thing to say, he knows that, but Katara smiles. That must be good. Or at least something short of disastrous. He thinks he can see her blushing a little, and he knows very well that his own face has gone scarlet. But for once, it doesn't occur to him to pull away, to mask his feelings with a frown. For once, he doesn't _try_ to hide them.

He finds her hand in the gathering dark and presses it. It probably isn't enough—he suspects that a hug would be more suitable—but Katara squeezes back.

Still holding his hand, she tucks the vial back into her tunic where it belongs and gives him a slight tug. "Come on, it's late. Two more days and we'll be there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to put this in my notes for the last chapter, but of course I forgot. Whoops! 
> 
> Anyway, I have a weird relationship with Crossroads of Destiny, and by extension, CoD canon divergence fics. I mean, I always get SO frustrated with Zuko because I just want him to be _good_ already, but at the same time, I completely get why Zuko had to get everything he wanted in order to realize that it was wrong and that he had changed. It's beautiful and I love it, but it frustrates the heck out of me anyway. So fics that diverge at CoD are a sticky area for me. They tend to skip over a lot of crucial character development for Zuko, and as much as I _love_ giving him more time building healthy relationships with the Gaang, I don't always find them super compelling if his choice to change sides goes too smoothly. 
> 
> But give me a chance to explore ways for him to change sides more organically, and I am _all over_ that mess. Canon!Zuko had doubts about joining Azula, he had to (he wouldn't have developed his "Azula always lies" mantra if he believed he could actually trust her), but canon!Zuko was given a choice between lofty, abstract ideals of inner peace on Iroh's side, and something that felt concrete and personal on Azula's side. When it came down to it, Zuko was just a kid who wanted to go home and although Iroh was ultimately right, he was appealing to Zuko on a level that just didn't feel personal enough. But... what if there was someone else operating on the same level as Zuko? Someone else running on emotions and deep feelings of personal loss, someone who could express (basically) the same sentiments as Iroh, but in a way that more closely matched what Zuko was actually feeling? What if someone could put the doubts that Zuko was working so hard to suppress into words? 
> 
> And... yeah. It's pretty obvious where I went with that idea. Zuko doesn't immediately trust Azula, and because he hasn't taken a side, Katara doesn't have a reason to start hating Zuko again, so she's still running in her _"he's really not that different than me, maybe he IS good beneath everything else"_ high, and that's enough to push her into a righteous rage over how Zuko was treated by his own people, his own _family._ And Zuko doesn't want to admit it, but... it kind of gets to him that someone who's supposed to be his sworn enemy managed to dig up the pain and doubt he's been burying for three years. It isn't quite enough to make him change sides, but it is enough to make him step in when Azula attacks Katara (protecting people is kinda his thing anyway), and... _whoops._ Just like that, Zuko burned all his bridges with the Fire Nation. Not exactly intentional, but the poor kid _really_ can't turn back now.
> 
> What can I say? I love me some internal conflict, but I'm not keen on prolonged _oh no, which side shall they choose?_ dramatics, so having Zuko sorta-kinda accidentally burn his bridges with the Fire Nation felt like the perfect solution. 
> 
> Anyway. I was also going to say something like, "I borrowed some headcanons from one of my other fics, let me know if you spot them!" Then I realized that most of those borrowed ideas are from a chapter I haven't posted yet, so... 😭 RIP to that idea. It'll look like I borrowed them from here when I finally get that update posted. 
> 
> **PS:** Zutara scar kisses are my greatest weakness, and you're welcome 💙 ❤


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Katara try to find a future that they can share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man voices. 😭 Doing man voices is _difficult._
> 
> [Podfic Download](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1IJVF0yJselae69eQncnm4d4-WR6XdYCj/view?usp=sharing)

Things feel different in the morning. Katara wakes to the sound of breeze in the treetops and a faint tang of salt in the air. The ocean is getting closer, and it smells like home.

For several long minutes, she lies still, savoring the salt in the air. Even the bare ground doesn't feel as cold, as unwelcoming. Now that her destination is almost in reach, now that she feels closer to Zuko than ever before, she begins to imagine that she might not have to choose. That maybe she won't have to decide between staying with Zuko and returning to her family alone. Maybe there is a third option.

She turns over in search of his sleeping face and instead finds an empty space, his blanket gone. Dread courses through her veins and she clambers from beneath her blanket in a panic.

Zuko can't be gone. He _can't_.

She bursts out of the tent barefoot, hair hanging wild around her face.

From his place beside the campfire, Zuko looks up.

Katara freezes in place.

A sort of softness comes over his face. Not a smile exactly, but close. "Hey," he rasps.

She hovers by the tent, heart in her throat. He's still here. An unruly curl falls across her face. "Uh—hey."

He watches her, golden eyes steady and warm. And she remembers last night, his hand clutching hers like he was afraid to let go. Like she would disappear if he loosened his grip.

She lets out a slow breath, willing her pulse back to normal.

"Sorry. For a second, I thought—" She trails off. It sounds ridiculous now. He's still here. Of course he is. She shakes her head and fumbles to tie her hair back where it belongs. "Never mind. I guess I'm not awake yet."

Zuko prods the fire one last time, coaxing the embers to life before he sits back on the log. "I'd offer to make you some tea, but last time I saw anyone try that in the wild, my uncle poisoned himself." A wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Katara's stomach flutters. It isn't a new sensation, but it almost feels comforting. Things are different— _everything_ is different than it was a day ago, but that pleasant little flutter hasn't changed.

She ties her hair off into a loose knot and rounds the campfire to sit beside him. "Well, in that case, I'll just have to wait until we can buy some real tea. Then you can show off your teamaking skills all you want."

His eyes widen, then he looks down, brow furrowing. "I don't think we're going to have time for that."

"Why not?"

She watches the muscles in his jaw work, watches him struggle for words. He tightens his grip on the stick he's been using to stir the fire.

"You said we only had two more days."

She turns toward the flames, her face warming. "I said we'd be there in two days."

Zuko gives a small nod and he won't meet her eyes. "Did—I mean—did something change?"

Katara swallows. She knows what he means. That they can't stay fugitives forever. That they'll have to choose a path soon, and Katara can't leave the war— _her people—_ behind. But there's more to it than that, and not for the first time, she wishes there was another way. That she didn't have to choose between the familiar and— _this_. Zuko. Their alliance, their partnership, their friendship.

She wishes she knew the reason for his hesitation.

"No," she answers, voice small. "Or—maybe? Sort of." She fights to keep the wobble out of her voice. "I just know that I have to get to Chameleon Bay."

"Oh." There is a catch in his voice, and Zuko pauses. From the corner of her eye, she watches him scratching at the papery bark with his thumbnail. "When do you want me to leave?"

"I don't." The words come before she can stop them. But she means them. And as they hang in the air between her and Zuko, she can't bring herself to regret them. She _wants_ Zuko by her side.

She hears his inhalation, feels his eyes land on her. Her cheeks burn and she doesn't dare look at him.

"My dad's fleet is at Chameleon Bay," she explains quietly. "My brother is there with him. I _have_ to go. But that doesn't mean—" She pauses to steady her voice. "That doesn't mean that I want to leave you behind."

He is quiet, his eyes turned away. For several long moments, Katara wonders if it was the wrong thing to say, if it was too much or too fast.

She wishes she could say more, but the words refuse to come.

Zuko takes a long, slow breath. "I can't go back to the Fire Nation."

Katara nods. It hurts to think about it. He has nowhere to go, and it's all because he chose to save her.

"But—" He turns the stick over in his hands, running his thumb across the streaks of soot. "—I don't think I can stop fighting."

Katara turns to watch him.

"I've been fighting for three years to bring an end to the war. But now—" He takes a long, slow breath. "Now I think I might have been standing on the wrong side all along."

His expression is guarded, but she thinks she can see an edge of cautious hope in his eyes. Her breath catches in her throat. _Please, please, please, say it. I can't do it for you._

"Do you think—" Zuko asks, voice tight, "Is there any chance that I could come with you?"

She can hardly remember to breathe. "Is that what you want?"

He meets her eyes for an instant and rubs the back of his neck, his face red. "If you want me to go somewhere else, that's fine too. I'll figure something out—"

"No!" Katara throws her arms around him before he can say anything more. "No, Zuko." She pulls him as close as she can. "I'd love it if you came with me."

He tenses in her arms for the briefest second, then lets out a slow breath. She feels him ease, and one arm comes to rest tentatively around her waist. It isn't much, but it sets off the fluttering in her stomach all the same. Even better, she feels warm and secure tucked against his side like this. Like there was always a place waiting for her in his arms.

"Will they be okay with this?" Zuko manages in a half voice. "Do you think your people will really give me a chance?"

Katara presses her face into his shoulder and closes her eyes. "I'll make sure of it."

* * *

Now that he knows their destination, the hours, the miles pass quicker. For the first time, Zuko knows exactly where to steer Ginseng, he doesn't need to rely on blind panic or directions from Katara. Zuko can't decide whether his new purpose has given the ostrich horse a new burst of energy or if it is merely twisting his perception of time, but the whole world seems to move faster.

Katara leans against his shoulder as they ride. That, he tries to convince himself, is no different than before. Katara has always held onto him like this, she has _always_ pressed herself so close that her grasp could almost be mistaken for an embrace. Except—it _feels_ different now. She tucks her head in alongside his twisted, reddened ear like always, but _Zuko_ feels it differently. He allows himself to soften into it. The soft pressure along the bottom of his scar is no longer a shock, it's a beacon, and Zuko can hardly imagine what he would do without it.

If Uncle were here, he would tease Zuko. If Uncle were here, his teasing might even be justified.

As they ride, Katara tells him stories—about her people, about her family, about her father. Zuko steers Ginseng through forests and meadows and gullies to the easy music of her voice. She tells him how her father used to tell stories every night, casting shadows on the roof of their tent to bring the ancient tales to life. She tells Zuko how she and her brother used to compete to see who could stay up the longest past their bedtime, how their competition was always in vain since their father's quiet rumble could lull them both to sleep in minutes. She tells Zuko how their father took them both fishing and sailing on clear summer days, how he began to teach them to read the currents and the stars.

It sounds nice. Her _father_ sounds nice.

That terrifies Zuko.

A day brings them to the cliffs overlooking the coastline, mere hours from Chameleon Bay. Katara is buoyant, and Zuko does his best to smile along with her. The cool, salty wind takes him back to his years at sea, and for a while, it feels like home. He can almost believe that he has found his way back to a destiny he was always meant for.

But apprehension creeps up on him no matter how hard he tries to suppress it, to keep it out of sight so it can't spoil Katara's excitement. Zuko knows his own luck. He remembers every time he's ever put his trust in fate, every time it has turned against him. Until now.

Sooner or later, a voice in the back of his mind whispers, things will have to go wrong. Being here with Katara feels too good, too _right_ to be true.

Katara seems to sense his worry and she pulls him into a hug. _Everything is going to be fine,_ she assures him.

Zuko believes her.

Zuko trusts her.

He wishes it were as easy to say the same for her family.

He scarcely sleeps, staring into the inky dark filling the roof of their tent. Katara's hand rests against his arm as if holding him in place and Zuko clings to the contact with everything he has. _She_ wants him here, he reminds himself over and over again. _She_ wants him. That has to be enough.

Morning comes too soon for his liking, and they set out even before the sun crests the horizon. This near the coast, the terrain is too rugged to safely ride, so they travel on foot, Zuko leading Ginseng by the reins.

In Katara's haste to reach the bay, her well of stories runs dry. Zuko tries not to let the silence overpower him. She just wants to see her family, he knows that, and he can't fault her for it. But the breeze through the treetops and the sound of their footsteps do little to fill the silence, and Zuko can't keep his doubts from crowding in and filling the emptiness.

He fights the impulse to run. This is where he needs to be right now. Part of him even believes that Uncle would be proud.

But that doesn't keep him from tensing in anticipation when they begin their last descent toward the bay. He can feel eyes on them, and he swivels his head to watch for movement in the boulders lining their path.

He expects an ambush. He doesn't expect a tall, deep-voiced man to emerge from nowhere behind them and call out Katara's name.

She gives a small noise of delight and bounds back up the path. "Bato!"

Zuko feels as though he is shrinking as the flinty blue eyes bore into him and he steps closer to Ginseng.

"This is perfect! I was beginning to think that we'd never make it all the way here. Where are Sokka and Dad?"

Bato hardly reacts to Katara's embrace or her happy chatter, too busy staring at Zuko for anything else. He is unwelcome. Zuko can feel it in the air, in the man's gaze, and he angles his scar away from his scrutiny.

"Katara," Bato interrupts, turning as though to shield her. "Who is this?"

Zuko wants to laugh. _I did that too. I tried to protect her. I_ _ **did**_ _protect her. I could have died for her._ But his throat is tight, and with the man staring down at him, he is entirely too aware of how small he really is.

Katara turns his way, smile warm as ever. "This is Zuko."

He forces what he thinks might be a smile and raises a halfhearted hand in greeting.

Bato's eyes narrow, and he steers Katara away. "What are you thinking, Katara? We can't have _him_ here."

Zuko's jaw tightens and he grips Ginseng's reins tighter.

"He's with me." Katara's voice is brittle, and she pulls back toward Zuko, her face hardening. "I know what I'm doing, Bato."

"We can't have a firebender here. It's too dangerous. You and I both know that Hakoda will agree."

A hard, burning knot grows in his stomach. It isn't the first time he's heard that. But hearing it from one of Katara's own tribesmen, someone who looks enough like her to be family, makes him wonder. He knows she felt that way before. He wonders if it ever really left.

Katara's expression turns to stone and her eyes burn cold. "I _don't_ know that. And it's not your decision to make. It's Dad's." She turns and pushes past Zuko and Ginseng, down the path toward the shoreline. "And I'm going to talk to him right now."

Zuko has to drag himself to follow. Under Bato's flinty gaze, he feels small—smaller still when Bato makes it a point to walk half a step behind him. He's known all along that this wouldn't be easy. But he wasn't expecting to feel so much like a prisoner being marched to his own execution. Knowing that none of Katara's tribesmen want him here, not entirely believing that she still does, is almost more than he can take. Every step takes all his discipline, and the walk seems endless.

At the beach, warriors work in clusters, some mending nets and sails, some sharpening weapons, some muttering over boiling pots of something that does _not_ smell like food. Zuko hopes it isn't food, at least.

Katara marches on ahead, cutting through the crowd without hesitation, her head held high. Zuko pauses long enough to draw a breath, to gather his courage before he follows.

He can't look up from the sand, from the trail of Katara's footprints leading across the beach. He sees the blur of blue and brown close in around him, he feels dozens of pairs of eyes turn his way. He is surrounded. Outnumbered.

The back of his neck prickles and he clenches his jaw. If this is a trap, there is no escape left for him.

Bato drags him to a halt halfway across the beach. _"You_ don't go any further."

Zuko jerks free of the man's grasp, but he doesn't dare to disobey. He steps closer to Ginseng, keeping his eyes down.

For the first time, Katara turns back. "Zuko?"

He doesn't answer. He isn't certain that he can. There is a weight on his chest and his shoulders that he can't seem to shake off. He wants to trust Katara. He can still feel the brush of her lips against his scar, the softness of her hand in his own, the warmth of her head resting against his. Believing in that, believing in _her_ feels better than anything else he can think of. But here, surrounded by loathing eyes that all look like hers, all of his memories become fragile, little better than illusions.

Hatred is real. Hatred is familiar.

"Zuko," she says again, more insistent this time.

He meets her eyes.

"Trust me."

For a moment, the spark in her gaze brings him back to the catacombs, to the trail from Ba Sing Se. Back to when they were alone, relying on one another. A team. Partners, even. For a moment, he can imagine her arms twined around him again and hear her voice in his ear. _Everything is going to be fine._

He thinks he manages a nod.

But then Katara turns away, toward the largest tent on the beach, and reality creeps back in from the corners of his mind.

Still rooted in place, too conscious of the watchful, suspicious eyes around him to move, Zuko reaches up to stroke Ginseng's hooked beak.

"You'll still be here, right?" he asks the ostrich horse in a whisper. "If Katara can't convince them, or if she changes her mind and I have to leave—"

Ginseng gives a small squawk and pecks at his hair.

It's stupid, and Zuko can feel the warrior's confused glances, but he keeps petting Ginseng's beak, murmuring a few words here and there to keep himself from bolting. He can't afford to run, not now, not when any movement could be taken as a threat, not when he is surrounded by so many people who hate him. And especially not while he still clings to a thread of hope that Katara might keep her word, that she might be able to do the impossible. It wouldn't be the first time.

Zuko lets out a slow breath and ruffles Ginseng's feathers. He won't count on it, he has enough experience with people to know better than that, but he holds onto her word with everything he has. Even the smallest chance is better than being adrift again.

He waits. He doesn't know how long, but the minutes stretch on until some of the warriors lose interest in him and return to their work. Zuko dares to look out at them, only brief moments at first, only enough to see the putrid, bubbling pots raised from the fires and emptied into bulbous leather contraptions, the nets repaired and exchanged for bundles of half-woven rope. The suspicious glances still turn his way from time to time, but they grow less frequent, and the beach goes from tense, eerie silence to a quiet bustle.

He waits until even Ginseng tires and plops herself down in the sand, and fluffs herself into an enormous, dusty, feathery mass. He waits until only Bato is left to stand guard and the rest of the warriors seem to forget the intruder in their midst.

Zuko shifts his weight and says a silent plea to every spirit he knows.

_Please don't let this be a trap. Please don't make me lose Katara._

When at last the tent flaps open, Zuko feels as though his knees will buckle under the tension. Katara emerges first, then a tall, square-faced man who looks too much like her brother—too much like _her_ to be anyone but her father. Zuko's palms sweat and his heart races, but he doesn't look away. For a long moment, the man stares at Zuko while Katara speaks—Zuko is too far away to hear any of it—then nods, and they both approach.

Zuko drops into a bow even before they reach him. Not a proper Water Tribe greeting, he knows that, but he realizes too late that he doesn't know the Water Tribe way.

He will learn, he promises himself. If this ends well, he'll ask Katara, he'll learn _everything_ about her people.

"Hakoda," Bato says in greeting.

From the corner of his eye, Zuko sees Katara's father nod.

"Prince Zuko," Hakoda says, his tone neither welcoming nor threatening.

"Yes, sir." Zuko remains bowed, eyes on the ground.

There is a pause. "You can stand, Prince Zuko. We don't do—whatever _this_ is in the Southern Tribe."

Face burning, Zuko obeys and straightens to find Katara's father staring at him from several paces back. Hakoda looks more like her brother than Katara, but his eyes are every bit as piercing as Katara's. Zuko fights the urge to look away.

"My children have told me a lot about you." Hakoda pauses as if watching for a reaction. "Sokka tells me that you hunted them from the South Pole all the way to the North Pole. Katara tells me the same." Another pause. "Is it true?"

Zuko can't find the words. Mouth dry, he nods.

There is no anger in either the chief's eyes or his voice. Every word is calm and measured. "Katara told me more. Is _that_ true?"

Zuko shoots a quick glance at Katara. There are hundreds of stories she could have told her father. So many of them are worse. So many of them are enough to mark him as an unforgivable enemy.

Hakoda doesn't wait this time. "Is it true that you defended my daughter from your own sister?"

Zuko stiffens, but Hakoda isn't finished.

"Is it true that you caught lightning in midair to save Katara? Is it true that you took her to safety when she could go no farther on her own?"

Zuko can't respond, can hardly even comprehend the questions. It all sounds so much bigger than he remembers. Like there was ever another option, like he could _ever_ have left Katara at Azula's mercy. He _couldn't_. It strikes him unexpectedly, but he knows that it's true. He could _never_ have let her die. He could never have left her behind, not after everything she said, after everything she _did_.

When the silence lingers too long, Katara comes to stand beside him. "He did, Dad. I wouldn't have made it out of Ba Sing Se without him."

Zuko manages to shake his head. "I couldn't leave you behind. Not after—"

Hakoda raises a hand to silence him. "And," he resumes, tone as even as ever, "Now that you're here, Katara tells me that you have a request." For the first time, Zuko thinks he sees a glint of kindness in the chief's eyes. "I can't believe it until I hear it from you."

"Oh." Zuko fumbles for words until Katara's hand brushes against his and he catches a quick smile from her. He inhales. "Sir—I want to see this war end. I always have, and I finally realized that I've been on the wrong side all along." He stops, catches another glimpse of Katara's warm eyes. He can almost feel her fingers laced through his. "I want a chance to prove myself. I'd like to join your cause. With your permission, I mean."

Hakoda watches him for a long, quiet moment. It takes all of Zuko's will to maintain eye contact.

The chief doesn't break the silence. But after a moment, he comes forward and clasps Zuko by the forearm. Clumsily, Zuko returns the gesture.

"A chance is hardly repayment for my daughter's safety. But if you want it, you can have it." Hakoda smiles and grips his arm a little tighter. "Welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end!
> 
> If anyone is looking for another fic to follow during the pandemic ~~now that this one is done~~ , I'm _finally_ ready to start updating [A Tale of Ice and Smoke](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17190698/chapters/40420064) again! I have four chapters complete, so _WOOHOO!_ Guaranteed weekly updates until May 3! After that, 🤷♀️ I guess we'll just have to see how much writing I can get done while still working full time (the joys of being an employee in an essential industry).
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading! Writing this story was a blast, and I appreciate all the comments _so_ much! They always make my day!


End file.
